


Dinner, Two Holidays, and a Wedding

by ashisfriendly



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Neighbors, Thanksgiving, Washington D.C., Weddings, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 14:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11534445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisfriendly/pseuds/ashisfriendly
Summary: Leslie's been living in the same apartment in D.C ever since she graduated college two years ago. For two years she's been receiving notes with angry, slanted, and annoyingly neat handwriting. That's all 7C has been to her, until he needs a favor.





	1. Dinner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookworm03](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm03/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY NICOLE!!!!!!!! You are a gem and a wonderful bird and I love you so much, I hope you enjoy this fic. Many thanks to tumblr wonders pawneewafflesben, benjis-cool-times, and perngrn for being incredible cheerleaders and betas.

Leslie isn’t perfect. Sometimes, she gets cranky about the horrid weather of D.C. summers. Sometimes, she leaves her office, where the air conditioner is broken for the second day in a row, and tries to find relief when the fresh air hits her skin. It’s sticky and just as hot as the inside of her office, and it makes her lungs feel like they’re ballooning with warm water. Sometimes, she gets on the bus and sighs in relief as air conditioning chills her from the inside out. Sometimes, she forgets to look at her surroundings, forgets that she is lucky enough to work in a senator’s office, forgets that she’s in D.C., where she’s always wanted to be. 

And sometimes, sometimes, when she gets home from work, there’s a note taped to her door that makes the heat from the outside seem miniscule to the heat that’s causing her blood to boil in her veins.

She snatches it and undoes the four locks of her apartment door. She’s grumbling while she does it, and with each click, she slides her eyes over to the door of apartment 7C. Once she’s inside, she slams the door for some kind of release, but it doesn't come. 

She hasn’t even read the note yet.

She tosses her bag on the small kitchen table as her white and orange tabby cat, Whip, slinks her way between Leslie’s ankles. Leslie mumbles “hello” to her, even though Whip deserves none of this animosity, and unfolds the note.

Is it possible to feel anger just by someone’s handwriting? It’s familiar to Leslie now; the past two years have been riddled with this slanty, yet focused handwriting. She wishes it was sloppy or hard to read, but it’s not. It’s slanted, crisp, and has hard, final punctuation marks, whether they be periods, commas, semicolons, exclamation marks, or the ever-favorite, question mark. 

And always in black pen. Does he own any other colored pen? She imagines his apartment is overflowing with black pens—the inky kind, no ballpoint pens, absolutely not. She knows, because sometimes, the ink smudges. She hopes he hates that.

She reads the note out loud, for Whip’s benefit.

_5C—_

_Do you sleep? I’m actually curious. Regardless, I do sleep. I sleep at night. From around 11:00PM to 7:00AM, though that is just an approximation. Some, including myself, find it hard to sleep when there’s lots of noise. For example, when you have late night phone calls with “Ann,” who must work night shifts. Good for her, but I work day shifts. I also know you love_ The Great British Baking Show _. It is truly a delightful piece of television. May I suggest watching it during the day? Perhaps after work? Perhaps not at a ridiculously high volume?_

_Thx. 7C_

Leslie groans, folding the note back up and throwing it in her catch-all basket by the door. It’s full of notes from 7C, who can’t be bothered to knock on her door or even talk to her when they have to share an elevator. To be fair, she doesn’t bring up any of his notes either, or the ones she writes back. They’ve just been doing this since she moved in. She put a bag of cookies outside his door on that day, just like she did for everyone on her floor, and he responded by leaving her a note that said, “Thank you for the cookies, but remember, we have a rat problem. 7C.”

He’s a butthead. That’s all she really knows about him. He’s tall and skinny, with a flat butt and one of those really angular faces that shouldn’t work in his favor, but does. Maybe it’s the constantly messy brown hair on his head that helps out with that. She’s never heard his voice, per se, but she has heard him through the walls. Their bedroom walls connect and she’s heard him… well, have sex. Not too often, but enough to make Leslie slightly jealous. She’s maybe had sex twice in this apartment since moving here. She’s been busy.

Leslie decides to leave the matter alone, no return note today, and starts her after work routine: feed Whip, put on comfy clothes, turn on the TV (extra loud for fun), and poke around her kitchen before she decides to call in for Chinese. 

An hour later, her intercom buzzes and she lets in the delivery woman and opens her door to wait for her to arrive. Leslie’s leaning against the doorframe, and she smiles as she hears footsteps approaching, ready with her cash and extra tip.

But it’s not her delivery woman, not yet anyway. It’s 7C, his suit jacket over his arm, shirt sleeves rolled up and tie undone around his neck. He fiddles with his keys in his hand, trying to flip to the right one while his other hand is occupied with a briefcase. 

He looks up at her as he passes, and Leslie feels that all-too-familiar sting of anger at the sight of him. He looks back down at his hand, finally getting the key he needs, and starts unlocking his door. 

“Chinese again?” he asks.

So that’s his voice. Clear and mean, and Leslie wants to tear out his voice box.

“Most polite conversation could be about the weather.”

He smiles at that, or grins, smirks, whatever it is evil people do that is close to smiling. He finally gets the door unlocked.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s fucking hot.”

His door shuts just in time for the delivery woman to appear. Flustered, Leslie thanks her, gives her too much money, and closes the door.

//

On Friday, the staff are leaving early to get a start on the weekend. Leslie tries to stay as long as possible, noting that there is a lot to do, actually, and that the weekend really isn’t going anywhere. No one likes this attitude, not even Senator Ross, but Leslie does stay an hour later than most of the staff. An intern, Maisy, stays with her and they take the bus together, talking about the upcoming recess and how work may slow down, but Leslie tells her she hopes not. Maisy is quick to agree.

Leslie decides to come home and feed Whip and then go for a walk in the park that’s a few blocks from her house. There’s an actual breeze today, so it’s not unbearable outside, although it’s close. She’ll get frozen yogurt on the way.

She is locking up her apartment when 7C walks down to the hallway toward her. He’s wearing the same disheveled, post-work outfit he was wearing the other day. This time, however, his tie is checkered green and blue.

He sneaks a glance at her and she is ecstatic that she catches it, as if she now has something on him. He looks at her again as he unlocks his door.

“Hot date?” he asks.

Leslie looks down at her clothes. She’s wearing jean shorts and a Lucinda Ross campaign tank top from two years ago. Her hair is in a messy bun. What kind of date does he think she—wait, is he making fun of her?

“I’m going to the park,” she says, and quickly adds, “as if it’s any of your business.”

He makes a face, opening his door, hand steady on the doorknob. 

“It’s hot.”

“There’s a breeze.”

“I see.” 

He doesn’t move for awhile and Leslie’s unsure if she’s supposed to leave or not. She decides to leave and behind her, she hears his door shut.

She gets her usual vanilla and chocolate mix of frozen yogurt, topped with cookie crumbles and sprinkles. Kids are yelling from the playground, and there’s couples and families laying in the grass. Leslie finds a spot near a tree and toes off her shoes, letting her feet tangle in the grass. Pawnee parks were less busy. Pawnee is a much sleepier town than D.C., but she sometimes misses having the parks to herself. She puts her headphones in and imagines she’s back home as she makes small, swaying circles in the grass.

There’s a tap on her shoulder a few minutes later, and Leslie, surprisingly not startled, turns around.

7C.

7C in jeans and a REM t-shirt. His headphones are dangling around his neck. Also, he’s much taller than Leslie thought now that she stands in front of him, barefoot.

His hand goes up in a weak wave and Leslie slowly pulls out her earbuds.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.”

He looks down at her feet, and there’s a beat or two of silence that Leslie would desperately like to fill, but she’s not sure how.

“I haven't been here,” he says, so simply as if they were supposed to meet here. Leslie nods. 

“It’s nice.”

More silence. Leslie thinks about putting on her shoes as he looks around the park. He watches a frisbee get tossed around between three friends across the pathway.

Maybe it’s all just too weird, too much. 7C used to just be black pen on white paper, but now he’s a guy with band t-shirts who has seen her with no shoes on. It’s odd to even think of him outside of the apartment building, outside of their hallway, the elevator, or a piece of paper. How can he come so alive in just a week?

7C is just notes with too many hostile questions and condescending commas and harsh periods. 7C is missed eye contact and the suffocating silence of elevator rides. 7C is years of anger and pens and sticky notes, pressing the volume up on her TV, and the occasional slamming of hands on a shared wall.

Now she’s curious about his music taste beyond just REM and also what he does for a living that makes him look so wiped at the end of the day. 7C, Leslie realizes, even has a name, whatever it is.

“Your cat meows sometimes when you’re not home.”

Leslie groans and rolls her eyes.

“She’s a cat. That’s what cats do.”

7C puts his hands up. “I was just passing that along. You’re home a lot. Like, a lot…do you go out?”

“I—”

“So I guess I don’t hear her very often. I hear plenty of other things.”

“Did you come to the park to harass me in person instead of through rude notes?”

He closes his eyes and leans his head back, as if he’s so tired of Leslie, of this world. It’s rather dramatic, which isn’t surprising, considering.

He rolls his shoulders and reaches back in his pocket for a pair of sunglasses and pushes them on his face. The clouds have parted to let the sunshine in, and apparently he doesn’t like that. Leslie likes the warmth on her skin from something other than moisturized air.

“No,” he says. “I am actually here for a favor.”

Leslie laughs and laughs and laughs some more. The idea of doing this guy a favor is maybe one of her new favorite jokes. Especially considering it will probably be to lower the TV volume. Maybe it’s something more horrifying like, _get rid of Whip _. Both are out of the question.__

__Leslie wipes her eyes and takes a few breaths._ _

__“Are you done?” he asks._ _

__Leslie nods, swallowing a few last giggles._ _

__He tilts his head and Leslie can feel the eye roll even though his Ray-Bans block his eyes entirely._ _

__“Since I know all you do is sit at home and watch _Planet Earth_ or _Downton Abbey_ —”_ _

__“Hey—”_ _

__“I thought you may not be busy tonight.”_ _

__“Tonight?”_ _

__“Yes, tonight. The time that comes later today.”_ _

__“You’re an ass.”_ _

__He sighs, head falling forward. His sunglasses slide down his nose a little, but he pushes them back up._ _

__“My boss invited me over for dinner tonight,” he says. “He moved to a new place and he invited me and a few others to come over, and everyone else is married or they have a partner, so I need someone to go with me.”_ _

__“Okay.”_ _

__“I don’t want to look…well, whatever. I just need a date.”_ _

__“Okay.”_ _

__He runs his hands through his hair and looks up at the sky, the sun shining off the black of his sunglasses._ _

__“So come with me to this thing.”_ _

__Leslie takes a step back. “That’s not how you ask a lady out.”_ _

__He growls, which is a very interesting sound. She likes it. Maybe she’s also a little bit of an ass for enjoying making him angry._ _

__“Will you accompany me this evening to my boss’ house and pretend to be my very happy girlfriend, whom I may have mentioned a few times?”_ _

__“I can’t. I’m busy.”_ _

__He scoffs and turns on his heels, walking out of the park._ _

__“I’m kidding! Hey!” Leslie runs after him, barefoot. “Hey! 7C! I’m kidding, I can go.”_ _

__He turns around and nods at her. “We’ll leave at 6. You forgot your shoes.” He turns to leave again, calling back to her. “And my name is Ben, I doubt my girlfriend would call me by my apartment number.”_ _

__Leslie watches him leave. 7C has a name. He’s almost fully human now._ _

__//_ _

__“He can probably hear you, Ann, shut up!”_ _

__Ann laughs, her lovely face illuminating Leslie’s phone. Poor Ann is trying to sleep because she has to work tonight, but this is an emergency. A date is always an emergency for Leslie, because they are notoriously bad, but this is…not a date?_ _

__Regardless, Leslie doesn't know how to deal with this._ _

__Leslie’s pacing around her apartment in her underwear, comically flinging dresses and other pieces of clothing all over the place._ _

__“Leslie, just wear the black dress. It’s the safest choice.” Ann eats a spoonful of Mini-Wheats and continues talking with food in her mouth. “Even though I like the purple one.”_ _

__“Ann, you vicious minx, that purple dress is cleavage city.”_ _

__Ann raises her fist in the air and makes some kind of celebratory sound before having another bite of cereal._ _

__“When do you have the excuse to wear a ‘cleavage city’ dress? This is the time!”_ _

__“It’s at his boss’ house, Ann.”_ _

__Ann shrugs. “You don’t even like this guy. You, and I quote, ‘want to cut his head off with a steak knife,’ so what do you care what his boss thinks? He’s the idiot for saying he had a girlfriend when he doesn’t.”_ _

__Leslie sighs and gets the purple dress and slides it on, trying her best to adjust the top so it isn’t revealing too much. Leslie has never had huge boobs or anything, but this dress can fool anyone into thinking she might have _nice_ boobs, at least. Leslie moves in front of the mirror, where Ann can see her, too. Ann whistles. _ _

__Freshman year, Leslie somehow found herself in a seven-minutes-in-heaven situation with Peter Mosner. Peter had flaming red hair and tasted like Mountain Dew. His tongue went all over her chin, which was very unpleasant. But not as unpleasant as the moment when he placed his hand on her breast and immediately pulled away to tell her she had no tits._ _

__Eat your heart out, Peter Mosner._ _

__“Fine,” Leslie says, smiling. “This will do.”_ _

__“Yay!”_ _

__Ann celebrates and tells her about work as Leslie fixes her hair. Ann and Leslie decide on a lip color as Ann explains her brother’s engagement. He proposed after he and his partner ran a marathon._ _

__“That’s sweet.”_ _

__“Except for all the running.”_ _

__“Ugh, yes, except for that.”_ _

__At 5:53, there’s a knock on her door, and Ann says something about punctual men being good men. Leslie rolls her eyes as she says goodbye to her. Leslie runs to open the door and dashes away to say she’s grabbing her shoes and a new bag. She doesn’t necessarily invite him in, but he comes in anyway._ _

__Leslie slips on her shoes as she comes back into the living room._ _

__“You should probably know my name—”_ _

__“I know your name.”_ _

__“You do?”_ _

__Ben is busy looking around her apartment, which actually looks…well, it looks like Leslie’s been the only one in here for months. Which is true. Ann was the last to visit months ago. Whip is sitting on the kitchen counter, watching Ben like a hawk._ _

__“Leslie Knope. Says so on that bill that was in my mailbox a few months back. I put it underneath your door.”_ _

__“Oh, right.”_ _

__She decides not to ask why he wouldn’t write her name on his notes if he knew it._ _

__“Your floors are better than mine. I think I remember them sprucing up the place before you moved in. They were noisy, too, but you know, in the day time.”_ _

__Leslie shakes her head, rolling her eyes, while Ben smirks to himself, but then he finally looks at her._ _

__It’s not a cinematic double take, nor does his jaw go slack while his ears burn, or anything like that. But there is a blink to his eye and she sees him swallow. It’s a more subtle approach to the bulging eyes and tongue rolling out of the mouth like a cartoon character, and Leslie’s fine with it. He’s tortured her long enough. She can feel good about this._ _

__He looks nice, too, but his hair is still a slight mess._ _

__“I don’t want to be late,” he says, leading them out of her apartment while Leslie smiles proudly to herself._ _

__It isn’t until the navigation on Ben’s phone says they’re ten minutes away that Leslie is very aware that she knows nothing about Ben, nor his job. Her heart jumps into her throat, she’s a terrible liar. She should’ve told him that earlier._ _

__“I don’t even know what you do.”_ _

__“I’m a lawyer. I work at Lasson & Lasson. My boss, Richard Lasson, is hosting. There are rumors about something opening up; I assume those who are invited are up for it. I could also be wrong, but his father, Joe Lasson, finally retired, so it’s possible.”_ _

__“What kind of lawyer are you?”_ _

__“Not one you’d like.”_ _

__“You sound like you’re an assassin.”_ _

__“Maybe I am.”_ _

__Ben finally flicks his eyes toward her before going back to the road. He’s been quiet and focused since they got in the car, but now he actually looks slightly playful. Or maybe it’s part of his act as an assassin._ _

__Leslie smooths out the skirt of her dress and sighs. “Well, I’m an only child. My dad died when I was 10. My mom lives in my hometown of Pawnee, Indiana. And I work for Senator Ross.”_ _

__“Oh, right, yeah, we should...yeah. Sorry about your dad.”_ _

__“It’s okay.”_ _

__“I’m—my family is from Partridge, Minnesota. My parents are divorced and terrible. I never mention them, so I doubt they’ll come up. I have a brother, Henry, and a sister, Stephanie.”_ _

__“Are you the middle child?”_ _

__Ben sneaks another glance at her. “Yes.”_ _

__They park on the street in front of a large, immaculate house. It’s either a new build or recently redone to look very new. Leslie’s curious now—if Ben’s boss lives this way, why does Ben live in a small one-bedroom apartment in a somewhat crappy building?_ _

__Leslie can feel how tense Ben is next to her as they walk up the steps to the front door. He straightens his tie twice and then rings the doorbell. Leslie turns to him, grabbing his arm._ _

__“Wait, how long have we been dating?”_ _

__Before Ben can answer, the door opens, and Ben moves so their hands are clasped together. It’s an awkward handhold, a cupped hold that feels unnatural. Leslie smiles through it anyway._ _

__“Ben! Come in.”_ _

__Leslie doesn’t know how to describe Richard Lasson, except to say he looks exactly like a rich kind of lawyer Leslie wouldn’t like. Ben shakes his hand and pulls Leslie inside, introducing her immediately._ _

__“This is my girlfriend, Leslie Knope.”_ _

__Ben even looks down at Leslie with kindness and excitement, and the whole expression is so weird to her that Leslie almost forgets to extend her hand for Ben’s boss to shake._ _

__“Leslie, so good to meet you.”_ _

__“Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Lasson.”_ _

__“Please, call me Dick.”_ _

__The house is just as huge and new inside. There’s tons of small end tables and big buffet tables, all with fresh flowers on them along with picture frames. The windows are expansive, and the floors look like they’re made of something Leslie is too poor to walk on. They go into a room that already has a few guests inside, including Mrs. Lasson (“Penny”), who looks too pleasant to be here. Leslie likes her a lot already, especially when she hands Leslie a glass of wine._ _

__“Hello again, Ben.”_ _

__Ben kisses Penny on the cheek and smiles warmly at her. Dick yells for Ben to come over and get a drink, and that he’s pouring heavy ones. Ben excuses himself over to the mini bar…or a regular-sized bar. It looks big to Leslie._ _

__“Dick mentioned that Ben had a girlfriend, finally. I hope he didn’t do anything awful to trap you.”_ _

__Leslie looks at her before Penny giggles and Leslie joins in, probably too late, but still convincing._ _

__“Oh, no, Ben is—Ben didn’t do that.” Leslie takes a sip of her wine._ _

__“I know, I know. Ben is just always at the office. Dick is trying to convince me that Ben needs something else in his life, but what’s wrong with a hardworking man? They are hard to come by.”_ _

__“Mm-hmm.” Leslie drinks more wine. “He’s…very dedicated.”_ _

__Penny nods. “How’d you meet? Are you a lawyer?”_ _

__“Oh, no, I work for Senator Ross.” Leslie waits, because it’s hard to guess how people will react to her boss. “Um, we met at a bar, very cliché.”_ _

__Penny nods, looking back at Ben and Dick and a couple other people pouring and toasting drinks. Ben laughs, a bigger laugh than Leslie’s ever seen him do, and nods along with Dick. It almost looks like…could he be sucking up to his boss? Is Ben a big ass-kisser?_ _

__“Let me check and see if the appetizers are ready; I’m hungry. Oh! And I’ll get you another glass of wine.”_ _

__Leslie watches Penny take her empty wine glass and disappear into the kitchen before she can ask if she needs any help. Then she’s alone in a room in a very rich house with a bunch of lawyers._ _

__“Leslie.”_ _

__Leslie blinks, looking at Ben across the room. He waves her over, smiling in a way that a boyfriend would. A boyfriend smiles this way when they’ve missed their girlfriend, or want them around, or notice them struggling. Ben’s very good at this. Leslie is terrible at it._ _

__She joins Ben and he introduces her to everyone before pulling her into his side. She comes up to a little above his shoulder, his arm snug along her waist. People talk about work, about cases that she probably shouldn’t know about, and there’s laughter and more alcohol, including a new glass of wine Penny hands her._ _

__Leslie doesn’t really know how to contribute, so she just stays in the nook of Ben’s side, his hand light on her hip. His fingers push in small rhythms, sometimes all five squeeze when he’s laughing, and when someone asks her a question, he rubs his thumb along her dress and it’s hard for her to talk. He even plays with the purple fabric at some point, rolling a piece between his thumb and forefinger. When he steps away from her to grab a mushroom cap, Leslie lets out a breath, her muscles loosening. She shakes out her knees and Ben comes back to her, a hand on the small of her back, whispering in her ear._ _

__“Are you okay?”_ _

__She just nods._ _

__It’s at dinner that Leslie realizes, yes, Ben is sucking up to his boss. It’s not as obnoxious as it looked from across the room, but he does seem different here than when he’s at home. He smiles a lot, does a lot of nodding and agreeing with his boss and some of his colleagues. Leslie’s picking up on cues of how Ben feels about his co-workers. It seems like he hates this guy Max the most._ _

__Jasmine, one of Ben’s coworkers, asks how Ben met Leslie, and Leslie’s quick to blurt out, “At a bar,” with mashed potatoes in her mouth before Ben can screw up the lie she’s already started. Jasmine gives her a look before looking back to Ben, who confirms and elaborates on the made-up story some more, once again proving he’s much better at this. He even puts his arm around Leslie’s chair as he tells the tale of her being stood up at a bar before he swooped in and ordered her a drink to make her feel better._ _

__“I didn't want to date that guy anyway. He was gross.”_ _

__There’s polite laughter and the conversation moves on, thankfully._ _

__They have dessert and coffee, with the option of putting more alcohol in with cream. Leslie’s had way too much wine, and Ben’s had quite a bit to drink, too. They all have. Leslie’s worried Ben won’t be able to drive them home._ _

__It’s warm outside when Dick takes them on a tour of the backyard. There’s a pool and a hot tub and a nice grassy area that has a place for his kids to play. Leslie likes the small patio behind the pool with string lights set up and a full outdoor kitchen. Dick leads them that way and a few people say goodbye, but a few stick around, including Ben’s least favorite person, Max, and his girlfriend Celine. Ben pulls Leslie down with him into an oversized chair and she doesn’t know how to handle this new, intimate position. It’s not outlandish or anything, but is definitely a way only a boyfriend and girlfriend would sit. She’d worry about Ben seeming unprofessional, but Penny is in Dick’s lap._ _

__There are a lot of political questions thrown Leslie’s way and everyone weighs in on everything happening around them at the capital. She finally feels like she can contribute to the conversation, and when she’s talking, Ben likes to touch her back, or slide his hand around to her hip. When he takes some water from Penny, he sits back and smooths his thumb along her wrist, the cool of the condensation from his glass chilling Leslie completely._ _

__“You want to be a senator, then? A congresswoman?” Max asks._ _

__Leslie nods. “Sure, but ultimately president.”_ _

__That makes everyone quiet for a moment. Ben’s hand has even stopped moving along her back._ _

__“2028?” Penny asks._ _

__Leslie giggles, shaking her head. Ben’s hand starts moving again, his head knocking into hers as he squeezes her._ _

__“Maybe,” Leslie says, laughing._ _

__“To Leslie in 2028.” Dick says and everyone raises their glasses or their open fists in pretend and toast to Leslie’s future._ _

__Ben kisses her head and Leslie gets a little lost in the fantasy where she runs for president in 2028 and has the support of a few, including a boyfriend._ _


	2. Two Holidays

The sticky warmth in the air begins to fade sometime in early October. Almost overnight, Leslie finds herself no longer fighting with the wall A/C unit in her bedroom, instead grabbing the blanket her Nana Knope made her when she turned 13 to put over her comforter.

Whip is purring on Leslie’s lap as she reads through proposals. Things pick back up soon and everyone will be back in session, and Leslie’s just trying to keep up where they left off. Leslie hums and highlights, sometimes asking for Whip’s opinion about something, making comments about others, all to keep Whip informed. 

She hears something drop on the other side of the wall and Ben’s voice shouting a hearty, “Fuck!” in response. Whip’s head turns toward the noise, but she’s ultimately bored of it all and snuggles back into Leslie to sleep again. 

There was a cease fire of notes from 7C for awhile after the dinner. They started back up about two weeks later, when Leslie binge watched all of _Glow_ in one night.

That time he left her a note along with an article that explained the harms of sleep depravity from WebMD.

_5C --_

__

__

_You spoiled me on_ Glow _, I was only on episode two. And now I may die early._

__

__

_Thx. 7C_

She slid an article from the _Huffington Post_ under his door, about how people who sleep less are actually quite intelligent, and went to work with a bounce in her step. _Glow_ really was excellent, and Ben is just a jerk.

Leslie is swamped for the first week of being back in session, and she doesn’t get home until it’s dark and chilly outside. Her conversations with Ann are a welcome break from the hustle, and Leslie loves to hear about Ann’s new boyfriend and squeals when Ann says he may be the one.

There’s a knock on her wall.

Leslie rolls her eyes and hits the wall back.

Ben can’t ruin this moment. Ann is thinking about marriage and futures while probably resuscitating a human heart in her bare hands, and Leslie refuses to let Ben ruin this just because he can’t handle apartment-style living. She wonders if he’s like this with 9C.

“What was that?” Ann asks.

“Just Ben being an ass.”

Ann gasps a little. “Is he in your house?”

“No! He’s just pounding on my walls.”

“That sounds like a line from one of your erotic thrillers.”

Leslie covers her face and giggles, hating that her cheeks flame just a bit from the comment...and maybe the thought of Ben in an erotic thriller. With her. A lawyer and a politician is actually a pretty sexy scenario.

Ann texts her pictures as they chat and there is more squealing and more hitting walls. When she gets off the phone, she hears Ben’s muffled voice say something along the lines of, “Oh, thank God,” and she gives the wall one more hit before making herself some hot chocolate.

The night is normal for her—hot chocolate, some more candy, CNN on in the background as she irons her work shirts. As she hangs them up, Ben continues knocking on her walls, and she keeps returning the favor. Honestly, if he wanted to sleep, it’d be easier to do without all the knocking. It’s only midnight anyway.

After another hour, Leslie can’t really take it anymore. She’s only human after all, and she is entitled to become a little bit grumpy when her neighbor is an incessant asshole. She texts Ann that she is going to kill him, to which Ann replies, “If that were true, you really shouldn’t text that to me,” and Leslie laughs as she pulls out a legal pad and a pen.

She scribbles down her thoughts—they aren’t very kind—and folds the paper, placing a piece of tape at the top of the folded edge. She stomps to her door and opens it, stepping out into the hallway.

Leslie isn’t alone. Ben is there, his own note in his hand, Batman pajama pants hanging too low on his hips, shirt missing from his torso. Leslie immediately burns, her face and chest are already pink, she can feel it. He is taut and lanky, dusted with hair all along his chest and stomach. He has a weak farmer’s tan, too.

His jaw slowly unclenches, and he clears his throat.

“Here you go,” he says, outstretching his hand, not seeming to mind at all that he’s shirtless in front of her.

Leslie holds out her note to him and he grabs it, eyeing her for a beat or two too long before opening it. She scrambles to open hers, too.

_5C --_

_Congrats to Ann, I guess, but please stop celebrating with clanking dishes and Anderson Cooper. Did you know CNN’s programming is just people yelling? And from your TV, it’s at a very unfortunate volume. Go to bed._

_Thx. 7C_

“What’s this?” Ben asks, flipping her note so she can see it, pointing at the drawing in the bottom, left corner.

“It’s me, I’m mad.”

“It’s cute.”

“It’s not cute, I’m mad. Stop hitting my wall.”

“Turn your fucking TV down.”

Leslie leans back, shocked by his tone, which is both desperate and demanding all at once.

“Fine,” Leslie says, her voice dropping to almost a whisper.

“Thank you.”

He disappears quickly, his door shutting, the echo of the locks turning vibrating in her ears. Leslie turns and enters her own apartment, Whip watching her from the kitchen counter. Leslie turns down the TV volume, then shakes her head, turning the TV off completely. She turns off the iron and takes her shirts, hanging them in her closet carefully before brushing her teeth. 

The bed is warm when she crawls inside, and she tries to do what Ben said, tries to go to sleep even though he has no right to tell her what to do. She can hear him cough on the other side of the wall and a part of her wants to knock on the wall, as a joke or as an, “Are you okay?”, but she’s unsure. She doesn’t. She tries to sleep, but it doesn’t work. Instead, she turns the lamp on and reads her book, a political thriller that will probably use pounding walls in it somewhere, and pets Whip, who purrs against her thigh.

//

A week after Halloween, Leslie is talking to her mother on the phone about her Thanksgiving plans.

“What am I supposed to do?” Leslie asks. “Just have a turkey with Whip?”

“Whip loves people food. She’d eat it up,” Marlene jokes. She sighs when Leslie makes a small sound of betrayal. “Susan wants to go and it sounds fun. You have your D.C. crew to have Thanksgiving with, and I’ll see you at Christmas, right?”

After she says it, Leslie suddenly catalogues her “D.C. crew.” It’s co-workers, mostly, whom she likes enough, but she can’t imagine inviting them over to dinner. She misses co-worker camaraderie. They all get along, but it’s nothing like her internship at the Parks Department before she left Pawnee. She’s never actually realized how isolated she’s been since moving to D.C. until now.

_”You’re home a lot. Like a lot…. Do you go out?”_

“Right,” Leslie says, forcing a smile so her mom can hear it. “I’ll see you at Christmas.”

There are a lot of recipes for Thanksgiving meals for one on Pinterest, as it turns out. Leslie finds them and pins them on the most depressing board of all time, but she is starting to get used to the idea of making a Thanksgiving dinner entirely made of desserts. She makes herself feel better by buying Christmas tree ornaments whenever she walks by a store with Christmas things already out. People don’t like that Christmas stuff is out so soon after Halloween, but Leslie loves it.

She buys one that looks just like a miniature Whip with a Santa hat on it. 

It’s actually cold today, and the trees are varying degrees of brown and leafless. She steps into the Starbucks that’s close to her building to get something very pumpkin-y or cinnamon-y. Something that will make her taste the beauty of autumn on her tongue.

Ben is there, which jolts her a bit when she joins the line. He’s already ordered. A seasonal red cup sits on a small table where he’s placed his briefcase, and he’s furiously typing on his phone. He didn’t look up when she came in, so she pretends not to see him for as long as she can.

However, when the barista calls out her name and drink, he perks up, looking toward the pickup counter with an eyebrow raised. Leslie catches his eye before she gets her drink. He’s beside her once she is at the trash can, discarding her straw wrapper.

“Extra, extra whipped cream and caramel drizzle?” Ben asks, following her toward the door.

“Caramel and pumpkin complement each other.”

Ben nods, sipping from his drink as they walk toward their building. She can feel him looking at her. Every few steps, he’s sneaking glances, eyeing her cup like it might actually explode, but like he’s amused about it.

He opens the door for her and she thanks him, walking to the elevator and pressing the up button. He waits with her and continues to stare at her drink or sip his own until they’re alone in the elevator.

“Don’t hate me,” he says.

“Too late.”

“But I need another favor.”

“You know, Ben, you really shouldn’t go around saying you have a girlfriend when you don’t have one. It’s ridiculous. You can tell your boss we broke up, you know.”

The doors open and they walk together down the hall.

“No way. Dick loves you. If I’m ever making partner, I have to keep you around.”

Leslie rolls her eyes, unlocking her door. To Leslie’s surprise, and Whip’s too, Ben follows her in.

“I am very charming and smart.”

“Yes,” Ben agrees.

She turns around, eyes wide with surprise at him admitting she has any positive qualities.

“Wait,” Leslie says, leaning forward. “You’re just trying to butter me up for whatever the hell it is you need now. What is it? Company Christmas party?”

Ben closes his eyes, rolling his head to the side.

“Right! The party. Yeah, you should be free on the 20th.”

Leslie scoffs and goes about feeding Whip, who is meowing at her feet. Ben leans on the kitchen counter. She doesn’t miss the way he eyes her sink full of dishes.

“So you need two favors,” Leslie says, opening the can of cat food.

“Sure.”

Leslie puts down the bowl of food for Whip and gives her butt a scratch before standing back up, hip planted on the side of the counter, arms crossed. She waits, watching him. He looks between her, the dirty sink, and Whip. 

“So?”

Ben blinks, pushing away from the counter and doing some weird two-step dance. It reminds her of his stiff, tense shoulders and shaking hands as they approached his boss’ front door. 

“My entire family thought it would be fun to come here for Thanksgiving.”

Leslie crosses her arms. “You didn’t tell them you had a girlfriend, did you?”

Ben rolls his eyes before looking down at Whip, who is cautiously sniffing his pant leg. “Not necessarily.”

Leslie tilts her head, and Ben runs his fingers through his hair. There’s more silence, more of Ben doing his very odd panicked dance that’s somehow both tense and shaky. She knows his parents hate each other and that he never talks about them, but he also hates her, and he’s usually very calm and collected as he tells her to be quiet or writes her letters. His last favor didn’t come with this much side stepping and neck rubbing.

“Stephanie asked how the dinner went with my boss, and I mentioned you, and she—I maybe didn’t correct her when she assumed you were my girlfriend.”

“You’re insane.”

Ben puts out his hands, as if putting himself on display for humiliation. Leslie shakes her head and pours herself a glass of wine. It’s going to go straight to her bloodstream since she hasn’t had dinner yet. Ben eyes her glass long enough that Leslie can’t help but pour one more for the poor bastard.

“How long will they be here?” Leslie asks.

“They’re traveling here on Thanksgiving and leaving Sunday.”

“Wow.”

Ben downs half the glass and nods. “I know.” He drinks the rest of it. Leslie thinks about offering more wine, but he just grabs the bottle and pours it himself. “They’re coming here because of you.”

Leslie scrunches her face, taking a step back. “Me?”

“Me having a girlfriend is a big deal. I don’t usually have them. Henry and Stephanie have spouses and kids, and well.”

He practically drinks the entire glass again, after which Leslie moves the bottle away from him. She nods, even though she doesn’t entirely know. She has no siblings to compete with, but she does love to compete against herself. Plus, her mother loves to hint at grandchildren, so there is a small mutual understanding, she supposes.

“Dinner on Thursday. I’ll order it, you can just show up. And maybe a tour of some sights around the city. That’s all. Please.”

His eyes are glossed with the beginning of a buzz, pleading and brown. Leslie looks at her glass and swirls it before taking a small sip. 

“Deal. But don’t order the dinner, I can cook.” 

Ben starts to protest, but Leslie puts up her hand. “I was just going to eat a Thanksgiving dinner of desserts anyway.” He smiles at this, head tilting forward. “And it’s only fair they get a tour of the city from me. I’m the best tour guide they could have.”

Ben chuckles and runs his thumb over the rim of his empty wine glass.

“Thanks,” he says. It sounds quiet and sincere and completely unlike him.

Leslie shrugs, and they sit in her kitchen in an oddly comfortable silence. Whip has started figure-eighting through Ben’s legs. He puts down his glass and bends down to pet her, but she runs away. When he stands back up, he takes in a breath before his face molds back into the stoic, sarcastic look he loves so much.

“So, president, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Did you go to law school?” he asks, almost like a challenge.

“No, my undergrad is in history, and my graduate degree is in political science.”

“Ah,” Ben says, putting the glass down. “A lot of politicians go to law school.”

“Okay?” Leslie places her glass next to Ben’s on the counter. “Is this your way of telling me that you going to law school and being a lawyer is how you’re going to be president?”

“We’ll see,” he says, shrugging, that stupid smirk on his face.

Leslie’s blood boils at the thought of having to campaign against him. Sure, she’s not going to run for any kind of office for another year or two, but when she does, she doesn’t need Ben there to ruin everything like he ruins most of her life.

“Anyway, I’ll see you later, Leslie.” Ben turns and lets himself out of her apartment.

She dreams about attack ads against her, Ben’s smirking face behind each and every one. She dreams he wins the presidency, but then she jumps on him during his inauguration and beats him with something that looks like an oversized, rainbow lollipop. He just laughs the entire time. She wakes up angry, but she gets a lot of work done that day.

//

Ben is actually helpful in the kitchen.

He’s stressed and spilling things, but he’s trying. He’s been snapping at her, but she uses this opportunity to snap right back at him. Ever since she learned he wants to also be president someday, she’s been competing with him. Right now that just means flaunting that she knows exactly what she’s doing to prepare a Thanksgiving meal and two kinds of pies. She’s been using both of their kitchens to get everything done.

His apartment is like hers, only mirrored. He has older kitchen cabinets and floors that haven’t been redone, but she likes the scuff marks and scratches along the old wood. Of course, it’s impeccably clean without a dusting of clutter or pictures of family and friends. There is a large framed poster of Batman in his living room, along with a LEGO Batmobile built and displayed by his television, but that’s where the fun and personality stops.

Leslie feeds Whip around 5 o’clock and takes a shower before grabbing the pies and heading back to Ben’s place. When she walks in, he careens toward her like a nervous bull with his hands out. His shirt is untucked, unbuttoned, and Leslie tries to calm her heart, which has jumped into her throat due to his greeting.

“My parents don’t get along,” Ben says, starting to button his shirt. He’s starting off all wrong. “My dad is a total asshole, and my mom likes to point that out any time she can.”

“Okay,” Leslie says, watching him miss buttons.

“This will immediately be about them, and they’ll probably even tell us that a successful marriage is impossible. They did that at Henry’s wedding.”

“Wow.”

“Henry and Stephanie are normal. Somehow, we’re all pretty normal. There will be kids—”

“I like kids,” Leslie says, swatting Ben’s hands away, unable to take any more of him mutilating his poor shirt. It’s wrinkled now. She unbuttons the whole thing and starts over. 

“I just suggest we get drunk, maybe? Or, you know, give my mom white wine.”

“We have some. Sounds great.” She’s halfway done with his shirt. He pulls back, but she follows him, trying to finish.

“Hey, I’m just trying to prepare you.”

“Ben, it’s fine, parents _love_ me. I’m very good at smoothing out confrontation.”

He closes his mouth and looks down at her, face a little crooked in confusion. His eyes fall to her fingers on his shirt.

“Uh, thanks,” he says just as she finishes. He straightens his shirt out and takes a step from her, running his fingers through his hair. “I wouldn’t say you’ve been very good at smoothing out any of our confrontations.”

Leslie rolls her eyes. “Well, you’re the worst, so that’s why.”

“They are worse than me, Leslie.”

She waves her hand at him and grabs a plate of salami and cheese and some other finger foods and places it on the counter. The turkey still has a little bit of time left, but otherwise, they’re actually ready.

And by the knock on the door, so is the Wyatt family.

Leslie looks at Ben, whose eyes are huge, and shakes her head, opening the door herself.

It’s a lot, even Leslie can admit that. There’s so many people in their cramped hallway and they’re barreling inside, happily shaking hands with Leslie (or in Stephanie, Henry, and Julia’s case, hugging her) and trying to find Ben as soon as possible. There’s only three kids, one that can’t even walk yet, and the two that head over to the counter to grab some crackers. 

“Apartment’s a bit small, huh, Benny?” Stephen says, patting Ben on the back. Ben jumps from the contact.

“Well, it’s just me.” Ben says. “Hi, Dad.”

Leslie watches Ben hug his parents and his sister, and shake his brother’s hand. Henry’s wife, Sloane, is holding the baby, who Ben timidly waves at. The baby smiles and Ben warms immediately, waving again. Huh. Leslie would never guess Ben liked kids. She imagines him yelling at them to get off of his lawn, if he had one.

The small apartment feels immediately cramped and loud, and Leslie wonders what it would’ve been like to be on the other side of the wall. Sure, there is yelling, and occasional snide remarks that Leslie tries to cover up with white wine, but there’s a huge family in here. Weeks ago, she was supposed to be alone in her apartment, listening to this. Listening to family.

It’s still a bit isolating. This isn’t her family; she’s not even really trying to enter this family at all; she’s not really dating Ben Wyatt. So, she watches and puts out more olives when Jason and Jeffrey finish the plate of them. She watches the turkey and announces when it’s done, but she mostly hangs in the shadows. She even texts Ann a few turkey emojis. Ann only replies with many questions about how it’s going. Leslie just puts her phone back in her purse.

Jeffrey and Jason sit at the coffee table with the TV on as the rest of the family sits down to dinner. The baby, Margaret, is somehow asleep in a sling against her mother amid all the chaos. When Ben sits down next to Leslie, he runs his hand along her shoulders in a comforting, circular motion that must be more for him than for her.

“Mitch would like to say something before we eat,” Stephanie says, looking at her husband. He blushes and says a quick prayer that no one else seems to even be listening to, and then the family digs in.

“So, Leslie,” Henry chirps, scooping potatoes onto his plate. “Why are you with this loser?”

Ben coughs next to her and Leslie pats him on the back, laughing. 

“I just don’t know,” Leslie says. “I guess he won me over.”

“I helped her in the bar when she was stood up, the poor thing,” Ben says, after swallowing some water.

“You love telling that story,” Leslie mumbles.

“How heroic,” Henry says, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He sounds like Ben. 

Ben nudges Leslie with his shoulder and she pushes him back, and the loving way Julia watches them makes Leslie’s cheeks burn. She feels like a fraud. 

“So how long has it been now? A couple months?” Julia asks, all kinds of hope in her voice.

“Mm-hmm.” Leslie takes a bite of turkey.

“And where are you living? Something bigger than this, I assume,” Stephen says.

Leslie looks at Ben, eyes wide, unknowing. She hates this; she hates making this stuff up, especially to his family. When it was Ben’s boss, it was just hard and uncomfortable, but with his family, Leslie feels like she’s letting them down, like her conscience is looking back at her in all of their faces.

“Actually, Leslie lives next door.”

“And you hadn’t met her until you saved her at the bar?” Stephanie asks.

Thankfully, there’s a small disruption about the TV remote and eating more turkey than cranberry sauce with Jeffrey and Jason. Henry has to get up and help them out and Leslie figures she’s safe for awhile, but then Stephanie pipes up again.

“Sorry. So you didn’t meet each other at all, even though you live next door?”

Leslie stares at her plate as she moves mashed potatoes around with her fork. She doesn’t want to lie to them, and she doesn’t even know what correct lie to tell. Maybe if she just lets Ben do it, he’ll figure it all out.

“Yeah, I don’t know, in the city you don’t really get to know your neighbors. I work later than her, too, so we just weren’t passing each other, I guess.” Ben’s voice is smooth and calm, his shoulders bouncing in a shrug when he finishes.

Leslie catches Stephanie’s eye and she still seems confused. Leslie tries to think of something more convincing, another detail she can throw in, but before she can, Ben’s arm is sliding over her shoulders, pulling her near.

“She lived right next door and I had to go to a bar on the other side of town to find her.”

Leslie blinks, butterflies escaping in her stomach and fluttering up into her chest. That is all untrue, a complete lie, didn’t even happen at all, but Leslie loves how it sounds coming out of his mouth. She even smiles up at him, her eyes a little lost, but a nice, little bubbling feeling of happiness roams through her anyway. It’s all fake and untrue; they met because she’s his biggest nuisance. They met because she was ridiculous enough to give him cookies, and he thanked her by reminding her of a rat problem in the building. They only met for so long through pen and paper and animosity, yet he sums it up as something sweet and so untruthful that it actually fills her with something positive.

Ben doesn’t say anything else, but his face falls forward, toward hers, and Leslie’s heart begins to race, panic shooting up through her spine, scaring away the butterflies. He stops when their noses touch and lifts his chin just enough so he can kiss her on the tip of her nose. She lets out a breath, closing her eyes.

“Aw, that’s so sweet, Benji,” Julia says.

Ben rolls his eyes at his mom and leans down to Leslie’s ear, whispering, “Sorry,” as everyone goes back to eating and talking, which eventually turns to fighting. Leslie drowns it out, eating quietly to herself as Ben, Henry, and Stephanie try to calm the storm.

She’s not sure why, but after dinner, Leslie expects everyone to leave. They don’t. Henry, Mitch, and Stephen join the boys at the TV. Leslie tells Ben he can join them, since the gender divide seems to be comfortable for everyone, but he just shakes his head, helping her clear the table and starting the dishes.

Julia and Stephanie are buzzed on wine, while Sloane goes for a second piece of pie, sharing whipped cream with Margaret. Leslie’s not sure where she fits in among these women, but she tries to make small talk anyway, keep the conversation light and flowing so it doesn’t turn into something Ben seems to be fearing. It’s been rather tame, from what Leslie was expecting. Ben said something about his father’s girlfriends usually coming along to rile up his mom, but if he has one, he’s left her at home.

“So, Leslie, Ben says you work for Senator Ross,” Stephanie pipes up, plopping her wine glass on the counter, shoulders squared and ready like she’s always wanted to grill one of Ben’s girlfriends, but hasn’t gotten the chance.

Leslie’s more caught off guard that Ben went into that much detail about his fake girlfriend.

“Yep, I—”

“Leslie’s going to be president!” Ben says from the kitchen sink. His sleeves, even though they’re rolled up, are wet, and his hands are soapy. He looks quite domestic, and it’s a nice look on him, unfortunately.

“Really?” Julia says. Stephanie’s eyes go wide.

“Benji wants to be president, too,” Stephanie says, her mouth tilting in a smile that must be a Wyatt masterpiece. “What’s going to happen when you two get married and have to run against each other?”

Leslie hates to admit that that scenario would also make for a great sexy political thriller.

Ben laughs. Leslie tilts her head, standing a bit straighter.

“Guess we’ll have to see who the better candidate is.” Leslie leans forward, whispering, “It’s me.”

The women laugh, even Sloane, who is eavesdropping from the table. Ben looks back at them, asking what’s so funny, and they laugh even harder.

“I could throw him a bone, though. He can be my VP,” Leslie says.

Ben shakes his head, turning the faucet off and wiping his hands on his pants before joining them.

“What are your five major platforms?” he asks and Julia waves her hand at him.

“Oh, Ben, we’re just joking.”

“Education,” Leslie starts, “starting with the entire rehaul of childcare and pre-K education and college tuition, emphasizing trade school availability for those out of work in rural areas. Health care reform, most importantly, comprehensive care for marginalized communities and how to help non-profits. Expanding the budget for the National Parks and the entire Department of Interior. Environmental impact research and development. We are way behind there; honestly, we’re way behind everywhere, but that’s where I come in and push forward.”

Ben blinks at her, her brain churning more of her political ambitions. Some of them have stemmed from her campaign ads from when she was a kid, how she wrote ideas in her diary for health care and parental leave. She remembers scribbling new park hours (24 hours/7 days a week) in her diary. She would play with fake budgets on her dad’s graph paper and present bar graphs and pie charts to him until he was only awake for a few hours a day on the couch. He’d wake up to watch her present her ideas. She hoped that one day, the country would be awake long enough to hear them too.

Leslie can feel Stephanie’s eyes on her, moving between Leslie and Ben. There may be more onlookers now, she’s not quite sure, because her focus is on Ben. She’s preparing for whatever it is he’s going to say next, something about how national parks shouldn’t be on anyone’s priority list when running for president, or how there’s too many social program overhauls and not enough about foreign policy or infrastructure. She has weaknesses, sure, but she’s working on them, and her strengths outweigh them. 

She opens her mouth to ask what his major platforms are, but he speaks first.

“Did you have that planned?” His eyebrows are knitted down just a tad, and his voice is softer than usual, not as challenging.

“I’ve had it planned since I was six. I’ve just made a few changes here and there.”

He smiles, an actual grin that grows from the corner of his mouth and lifts his face. The butterflies rejoice in her stomach again, not because it’s Ben or that he actually looks nice and handsome when he’s happy, but because she hasn’t shared her vision, her ideas, since she moved here. It feels good.

Ben swallows, glancing at his mom and sister, and a quick glance behind Leslie at something she’s unaware of, and puts an arm around her.

“Fine, you’re going to need me as your VP anyway, because someone is going to have to figure out how you’re going to expand the Department of Interior’s budget.”

He kisses her head. It’s the same spot he kissed her at his boss’ house, as if it’s practiced, a tried and true place he can always show his affection for her. She wraps her arm around his waist and hugs him close while Stephanie and Henry tell Ben to keep Leslie around and Ben laughs.

“I’m afraid I’ll never be able to get rid of her.”

//

The tiniest shift happens in the middle of December.

Along with the new, crisp air that holds the promise of snow, there’s a warmth going through the third floor of Leslie’s apartment building. It’s not quite a ceasefire, as notes still happen from time to time, but something else.

Smiles in the hallway, holding elevator doors open, small talk of political headlines, reminders of dates, questions about cats, notes with their usual angry slant accompanied by doodles in the top corners. Leslie even bought fun colored and patterned washi tape for Ben’s notes.

She sees him at Starbucks again, her gingerbread latte warm in her hand. 

“The 20th, remember,” he says, nudging her with his shoulder before walking out.

When she’s getting dressed on the 20th, Leslie stops after applying her mascara on her right eye. She blinks and wonders why she’s doing this. Why she puts up with Ben’s favors, lies to his family, parades around his boss. She doesn’t feel like a trophy or anything gross, but she’s definitely putting up a facade and spending her free time appeasing someone who has made her life pretty miserable for the last two years. 

Did it feel good to just pretend? To have a boyfriend for a night and feel proud, wined and dined, perhaps even appreciated? Her job gives her plenty of opportunities for praise and appreciation, even if they are few and far between. There’s gratification there. Whip is even such a comfort at night, keeping her lap warm as she purrs. 

Ever since her mother mentioned her “D.C. Crew” for Thanksgiving, Leslie’s been thinking about how there’s a loss of that. So, perhaps, she’s just lonely?

Ben knocks on her door and Leslie yells for him to come in, and she hears him open and close the door. He’s making a clicking sound with his mouth as Leslie tries to hurry up with the rest of her makeup. Then she hears him talking to Whip, mostly about how Leslie’s taking too long, but it’s kind of cute regardless.

That night, Leslie relishes in the double take Ben does when he sees her in her dress. She loves this dress, she picked it out with Ann last year in the midst of a major shopping spree because Ann had recently been dumped. Leslie put it on and immediately felt like Christmas and Ann squealed when she came out of the dressing room. It’s knee length but hugs her torso, flaring at her hips, and scooping low enough that she can feel sexy, but comfortable. Quite possibly the perfect dress.

Leslie walks around the party, hosted again at the Lasson’s beautiful home, that is somehow even more warm and wonderful when it’s full of Christmas decorations. Ben warns her that Dick loves to put mistletoe everywhere. She’s not sure if he’s looking out for her being caught with someone, or if he doesn’t want to get caught under some with her.

She chats with Penny and Ben’s co-workers, and starts to feel comfortable tucked into Ben’s side. Last time they were here, just being in contact with Ben tensed every muscle in her body and restricted her lungs from breathing. Now she can laugh and put her hand on his chest, lean into his shoulder when she feels the wine hitting her just a tad too hard, reach for his hand when she wants some more mini cupcakes. 

He doesn’t seem startled by any of this. He has his own go-to moves with her, his arm across her shoulder or cheek pressed against the top of her head. They love pretending, and Leslie thinks of all the times she played White House as a kid with her neighborhood crew of fellow children. 

“We have to pose for the presidential family portrait,” she’d say, and pull one of the poor unassuming boys into her side, saying, “click!” before he’d run off, announcing that he wanted to play something else.

Ben, however, doesn’t ever seem to want to stop playing, and apparently she likes it too.

At the end of the night, Leslie stops him from entering his apartment.

“Hey,” she says, keys fumbling in her hands. “I think you owe me.”

Ben stiffens and looks down at his feet before looking back up at her.

“Oh?” He clears his throat and nods. “I do, yeah.”

Leslie doesn’t understand the sudden tension in his shoulders, the shift of his feet, only noticeable because he keeps looking down at them. She almost takes back her request, but she doesn’t. He really does owe her. Right?

“Since you’re not going to Minnesota for Christmas, I was wondering if you’d feed Whip while I’m in Indiana?”

“Oh,” Ben says, almost disappointed. He nods and then shakes his head, smiling this weird non-smile she’s never seen before. “Right, oh yeah, I can—yeah, I can do that.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, yeah, definitely.”

Leslie smiles, starting the unlocking process of her door. Ben does the same, quicker than her.

“Goodnight, Leslie.”

“Night, Ben.”

Leslie pets Whip extra well the next night and takes a piece of washi tape with paw prints on it, attaching it to her care instructions for Ben. She tapes it to his door and takes in a deep breath, happy to be heading home. 

//

“Uh, Les?”

Leslie opens the waffle maker and inhales deeply, smiling on the exhale. She places the golden, fluffy masterpiece onto a plate and scoops another ladle of batter into the machine.

“Yeah?”

Ann walks into the kitchen, rounding the counter. Leslie’s staying with her mom, and Ann’s been over almost every day. This morning, she had to text and call and beg her to come over for Christmas Day waffles. Ann is always too polite and has to turn down her Christmas Day invitations every year. Marlene likes to sleep in and even if she didn’t, Marlene would love to have Ann over. Who wouldn’t?

“What’s all this?”

Ann turns Leslie’s phone toward Leslie so she can see the screen. There’s the very new text thread open between her and Ben. She left her phone number with Ben in case anything happened to Whip, but instead of using it as an emergency line, he’s used it to send her photos of her cat. Sometimes himself and her cat. Sometimes the litter box because he’s a weirdo.

The latest picture, Leslie hasn’t seen. It must have sent while Ann was trying to pick a Christmas playlist. It’s of Ben and Whip. Ben’s on Leslie’s couch, sitting back in his pajamas and messy hair, Whip on his lap. He clearly hasn’t been awake long, his eyes still sleepy, his smile so lazy. Leslie smiles at the photograph, taking the phone from Ann to get a better look.

“Hello? What is going on?”

Leslie doesn’t look up from her phone when she says, “He’s taking care of Whip.”

“He’s actually cute, also,” Ann says, taking the phone. She scrolls up the thread. “And is sending you way too many photos for a normal cat sitter.”

“He’s probably just bored.” Leslie takes out another waffle and ladles in a new one. She shrugs. “I like the updates.”

“Leslie, this is outrageous. He sent you a selfie.” Ann shows her the photo from two days ago. 

“That’s not a selfie, that’s a picture of him and Whip.”

“Taken with the front facing camera, thus making it a selfie.” Ann sits down at a stool along the counter. “Men don’t take selfies for anyone but women they’re interested in. Are you sure you haven’t specified that you’re actually _not_ dating?”

Leslie rolls her eyes. Ann puts the phone down, excusing herself to the bathroom. Leslie’s stomach spins as Ann’s words echo in her head. Ben’s not really interested in her, he just really owes her for all of her parading-around-and-being-his-girlfriend duties. He’s being nice, which is weird, sure, but he owes her. This is nothing more than just making up for all she’s done for him.

Her phone buzzes and Leslie picks it up, opening her text messages.

_5C — I don’t know why I’m not sleeping well. You’re gone, it is fantastically quiet, and yet. I blame you for this injustice. How? I don’t know, it doesn’t matter. Merry Christmas. Thx. 7C_

“Did he send another selfie? A dick pic?”

Leslie jumps, shoving her phone into her apron pocket. Her heart feels stuck in her throat.

Ann smiles, sitting back at the counter. 

“Oh, man. This is good.”

“Shut up.”

Ann laughs, one of her gorgeous big laughs. Leslie’s face turns red, and she can feel the burn hot on her cheeks. 

“Just eat your waffles, ma’am.”

“Okay, ma’am.”

Her cheeks burn again when Ann retells the story to Marlene, and Leslie covers her face entirely as Marlene talks about how delicious he looks in all the pictures. She shuts them both up by giving them their presents and hiding her phone in her bag.


	3. A Wedding

The invitation arrives on the day after her birthday. 

“Ann! You didn’t tell me they set a date and that it’s in California!”

Ann cackles on the other side of the phone. “I didn’t know much about it, either. Alex is a very secretive person. He likes surprises, so believe me, we’re all not at all shocked that we have no time to make travel plans.”

“I’ve never even been to California!”

“Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re coming! Book a room at the hotel now, okay? Between Alex and Zach, they have way too many friends, you have to hurry.”

“Got it, I will.”

“Yay!” Ann’s celebration is cut short by someone talking to her. “I gotta go, Les, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Go save lives.”

Ben knocks on her wall and Leslie matches it back. This is a new habit. Instead of pounding on walls, there’s knocks. She can tell when he’s really angry because he knocks a lot and really fast. This was a warning knock, just a few taps. Usually after a session of angry knocks, she’ll wake up to a note on her door. 

It’s a snow day tomorrow, a storm guaranteed to hit during the night. Whip must know because she’s been in the bathroom all night, snuggled in a towel in the bathtub. It’s not even a scary storm, just lots of snow, but she has some crazy foresight into the weather that makes her quite sensitive to big changes. Poor Whip.

Leslie wakes up the next morning and watches the snowfall from her bedroom window. She wants coffee with so much whipped cream and chocolate syrup to accompany her gorgeous view, but it would require getting out of bed. 

She can hear Ben’s muffled voice. She wonders if he had someone over, and she shakes away the sunken feeling in her chest. But no one’s voice answers him. The phone, he’s on the phone.

Whip slowly slinks out of the bathroom and hops up onto the bed to greet Leslie. She stretches and kneads at the blanket while Leslie pets her, begging her to make her some coffee.

Leslie takes some pictures of Whip and the view outside her window, uploading a few to Facebook, captioning them, “SNOW DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” She adds some snowflake emojis and starts to think of all the fun she can go have at the park today. 

There’s a knock on her door and she looks at Whip as if she’d know who could be at her door so early in the morning. Whip, however, is already on the move, ready to greet whomever’s there.

“Just a minute!” Leslie calls, throwing on her robe and trying to pat down her hair.

When she opens the door, she wishes she had done a lot more than just put on a robe.

“Hey,” Ben says, eyes falling to her robe, before returning to her face. “Happy snow day.”

Leslie nods, not quite understanding why he’s there. He’s holding two coffee mugs, hair a mess from sleep and pajama pants low on his hips, white t-shirt a little baggy on his torso. He looks disheveled, but in a cute way that men can get away with. She’s horrified to know what she looks like. She didn’t even take her makeup off yesterday.

“I heard you wanted coffee?” he says, clearing his throat. He offers her one of the mugs and she nods, taking it and opening the door for him to come in.

Whip wraps herself around his legs so fast, Leslie is honestly surprised. They really must have bonded while she was gone for Christmas. He walks past Leslie, and she can smell the faint aroma of soap and day-old deodorant coming off of him. Again, why is _that_ nice, when she probably smells like unwashed hair and cat?

“Thank you,” Leslie says. 

She goes to the fridge and grabs the chocolate syrup and whipped cream. Ben watches her dress her coffee and she tries to not care that he may also be evaluating how she looks. She doesn’t care.

“I know you probably had visions of making snowmen and having snowball fights today,” Ben says, sitting down at the kitchen table. “But there’s a Roosevelt documentary starting in an hour.”

Leslie scoops out a piece of whipped cream from her coffee with her finger and licks it clean. Ben looks down at his mug.

“The Ken Burns documentary? It’s so good.”

“Oh, yeah? I haven’t seen it.”

“You haven’t? We have to watch it.”

“Okay,” Ben says, taking a sip of his coffee. “Do we have to get dressed?”

Leslie smiles. “I won’t if you don’t.”

“Deal.”

Whip sits between them on the couch, Leslie’s stomach full from the pancakes she whipped up for her and Ben. It feels weird to be with Ben in her house, with no one watching to make sure they are a legitimate couple. It also feels weird not to act like a couple. It’s odd that there’s a space between them, that she’s not having to make up lies or reach for him. He doesn’t reach for her either, doesn’t look at her much. Just comments here and there on information he’s learning.

The entire thing is very long, and they only get two episodes in before Ben stands to ask if she wants more coffee. She nods and he makes more in her kitchen, practiced somehow, like he knows where everything is. It’s not hard, she figures; she doesn't have much in there, but it’s impressive nonetheless.

Whip follows him around the kitchen and almost makes him trip as he comes back with the mugs, whipped cream can and chocolate syrup bottle under his arm. Leslie thanks him, and this time when Ben sits back down, his side is flush with hers and it feels… right. Like playing pretend is their usual mode.

Leslie places her mug down and dresses her coffee again, putting a squirt of whipped cream in Ben’s coffee, too. He swats her away and she laughs, rocking with his body as they go back and forth about the whipped cream. She thinks about just squirting it in his face, but that’s a move she should save for a time when she has to really pretend she’s his girlfriend.

“Hey,” Leslie says, putting they whipped cream down. Next to the canister is her invitation to Alex’s wedding. “What are you doing Valentine’s Day weekend?” 

Whip jumps up on Ben’s lap and he begins to pet her. “Um, nothing. Why?”

“Well, you did such a great job with Whip and everything, but you still owe me, I think. You owe me like three favors. A weekend’s worth of favors.”

“Leslie Knope, did you tell someone you had a boyfriend, when in fact you don’t?”

Leslie rolls her eyes. “No, I’m not that stupid,” she says, eyeing him. “However, there is a wedding I’ve been invited to, and I have the worst luck at weddings. I’m always alone and I either get hit on, harassed, or told that not getting married is as viable an option as marriage and children.”

“Yikes.”

“So, would you like to go to California and attend a wedding with me? Be my boyfriend for the weekend so I don’t have to endure all the wedding pain?” Leslie sighs, worried he’s going to say no. “Then we’ll be perfectly even.”

He looks at her for awhile, his hand still on Whip. 

“Please, I’ve had to dance to ‘Single Ladies’ by myself.”

Ben laughs, leaning back on the couch.

“It’s not that funny.”

“It’s funny.”

Leslie breaks a little, laughing with him. She tells him to shut up and asks him again, saying she’ll pay for his hotel and food.

“No, stop, stop. I’ll go. Of course I’ll go.”

Leslie smiles, clapping her hands together.

“Yay! Thank you.”

Ben doesn’t sit back up from the couch, spreading his legs and getting more comfortable and deeper into the cushions.

“You’re welcome.”

Leslie smiles and leans back, slowly letting her body fall into his. He adjusts against her, and Leslie’s worried he’s going to kick her off of him, tell her they’ve been watching too much of this, or try to leave, but instead, he pretends. He puts his arm around her shoulders and sighs into her hair.

He’s asleep by the end of the current episode.

//

“If I really wanted to, I could make you take me to Disneyland.”

“You can’t make me do anything, Knope.”

Leslie punches Ben’s arm then buckles her seat belt. The plane is rather noisy, as if whole rows are taken up by teenagers. Ben’s grumpy about it; he’s been grumpy ever since they met in the hallway that morning.

So she gives him some space. The plane takes off, and she enjoys some of the snacks she’s packed and doesn’t mind when Ben steals a cookie or two. He has a cup of coffee and perks up a bit, and Leslie thinks it might be safe to talk to him again.

“You know, I’ve never heard your platforms for president. Is it a border wall to keep out loud noises?”

Ben’s gaze lazily slides over to her, and she raises her eyebrows in a challenge. He smiles, leaning his head back on the seat.

“It seems we have similar presidential goals, Knope, I wasn’t kidding, we could be a winning ticket.”

“I’m president, though,” Leslie says, pointing at him.

He raises his hands in surrender. “Fine.” He sighs, turning his head toward her. “However, Madam President, we have to figure out what to do about your Department of Interior budget. It’s not going to go over well. You want to rehaul healthcare and give more money to working families and expand education… something has to give.”

“Oh,” Leslie says, pushing herself up in her seat. “I will be raising taxes and everyone will hate me for it.”

Ben chuckles, nodding. “They will.” Ben runs a hand along his chin. “However, I do have a working plan for taxation. Percentages based on income, I’ll show you sometime. The rich will hate me.”

Leslie taps his shoulder with a confident nudge. “No, they’ll hate _us_.”

“You’ll hate me for getting on you about the National Parks, and I’ll hate you for being so loud in the Oval Office, and the rich will hate us both. Sounds great.”

Leslie sits back in her seat, smiling. It actually does sound pretty great.

//

No one mentions the hotel room. There’s one bed and no one’s going to talk about it. Leslie booked this room alone, with no intentions of bringing someone with her. Ben takes both of their bags and places them in the closet while Leslie stares at it. They can get a cot or Leslie can sleep on the floor. She didn’t even think about sharing a room with Ben, let alone a bed. He hates her nighttime routine, how is this going to even work?

“We have…two hours until the dinner, right?” Ben asks.

Leslie blinks. “Oh, yeah.” She doesn’t know what time it is, but sure, two hours sounds right.

“Great. I’m going to take a nap.”

He toes off his shoes and takes off his jacket, and as easy as a waffle sundae, falls right into their shared king sized bed.

Leslie shakes her head. She’s being ridiculous. It’s obviously not a big deal to Ben, who hasn’t given the whole bed thing a second thought, so why should she care? Leslie takes a deep breath and unpacks some of her toiletries, finds a book that she never got the time to read on the plane, and sits down in the oversized arm chair in the corner. The sun is nice and even, trying its best to peek through clouds and shine through the hotel window. It’s not as warm as she always imagined California to be, even in February, but it’s a welcome soft chill considering how cold it’s been in D.C. 

Ben’s softly snoring in no time, and Leslie watches him sleep, his face smashed into the pillow, hair wild like he’s been sleeping on it for hours. His hands are even pushed up under his pillow, his whole body a little scrunched up. At least he looks like a pretty compact sleeper, maybe sharing a bed won’t be so bad. If he wants to, anyway.

They’re late to dinner, because Ben is terrible at waking up. 

Even though it’s been only two months since Leslie’s seen Ann, she runs to her and hugs her as tightly as she can. Ann is laughing in her ear and squeezing her back and Leslie is possibly in heaven. 

“You look amazing,” Leslie says. Ann rolls her eyes and shakes her head, thanking her and returning the compliment. “Um.” Leslie clears her throat and gestures behind her, pulling Ben next to her. “This is Ben.”

“Hi, Ben—”

“This is Ann, the best person in the world, possibly the universe, too,” Leslie says, clasping her hands together as Ben shakes Ann’s hand.

“Yes, I know how you feel about Ann.” 

Ben and Ann share some kind of look that seems too familiar and knowing for two people just meeting each other. 

“Let me introduce you to everyone,” Ann says and begins the rounds.

Leslie hasn’t seen Ann’s brother in a very long time and hasn’t ever met his boyfriend. They’re being very cuddly and adorable, as if the wedding anticipation is actually bubbling out of them. _Or maybe_ , Leslie thinks, _they’re always this way_. Ben keeps his hand on Leslie’s back as he shakes hands with everyone, waving to others that are sitting too far away. Ann introduces them as “my best friend Leslie and her boyfriend Ben,” and Leslie wasn’t anticipating Ann being such a main component in their usual pretending, but it’s nice and gets everything out of the way. Clean and simple.

The night doesn’t feel as isolating as these things usually are for Leslie. When she pitched the idea of Ben coming with her, she hadn’t been lying. Weddings had always been her nightmare, just like first dates or running out of whipped cream. This feels different. She’s not sure if it’s because Ann is here and chatting with her about the day’s events tomorrow, or because of Ben’s steady hand on her leg or on her back. 

Leslie isn’t being a good girlfriend, not like when Ben is playing boyfriend around his boss. She’s so wrapped up in Ann’s stories and reconnecting with her that she’s actually unsure of what Ben is doing, who he is talking to, if he’s having fun. He taps on her shoulder to ask if she’d like more wine, because she completely missed the waiter asking.

“Oh, yeah, please.”

This momentary lapse in conversation with Ann steers Ann’s attention to her brother, who is talking about something that happened on their travel here, something they’ve forgotten. Leslie takes a breath and looks down at her food, completely untouched.

“Oh! I forgot I ordered steak. Mm.”

Ben nudges her. “Hungry? You’ve been chatting away over there. I feel like I’m in my bed, listening to you.”

Leslie blushes, quickly cutting into the steak. “Sorry. I love Ann.”

“I know. I have known.”

Leslie takes a bite, smiling as she swallows. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” Ben says, piercing the piece of steak she just cut with his fork. “Maybe.”

“Hey! No stealing my food.”

“We share food, babydoll.” He winks at her and grabs a piece of broccoli from her plate, eating it.

Leslie scans Ben’s plate and decides to take a bite of his mashed potatoes and Ben takes another bite of steak, until they’re eating more off of each other’s plates than their own, smiling through each bite.

“I’m sorry, Ben, right?”

Ben hurries to swallow his last bite and nods at Ann’s brother, Alex. Alex is like a male Ann with more muscles, who’s absolutely gorgeous.

“I just wanted to thank you for coming. I’m hoping you weren’t scared off by my sister.”

Ben shakes his head. “Sorry?”

“I assumed since you were dating Leslie, that you would’ve gotten many threats by now. The usual BFF stuff of never hurting her and all that. In high school, Ann chased a guy who cheated on her friend with a scalpel from biology lab.”

“Oh.” Ben looks at Leslie and Leslie tries to give him a small nod without being too obvious. He doesn’t take it so Leslie pipes up.

“She did, remember? You came over and told me that somehow she’d gotten your number and had given you that long talk. You were spooked, I can’t believe you don’t remember. I’m pretty sure she said something about decapitating you just to send your head to your mother.”

“That sounds right,” Alex says, laughing.

“Good Lord,” Ben says, then looks back at Alex. “Yeah, it was…it was intense.”

Ann turns toward them, leaning over her plate so she can look past Leslie to Ben.

“Just as a clarification, then, you won’t be hurting her. Right?”

Leslie furrows her brow, turning to stop Ann from this, because it’s ridiculous and unnecessary. They aren’t even dating. Their whole relationship is built on hurting each other, more or less, with petty notes and favors. There’s no reason to threaten him.

But Ann isn’t looking at her, and she has her serious face on, cold eyes and tight mouth. It startles Leslie, even though it’s not for her. She turns to Ben, whose face has changed from startled horror to something a lot more serene. His brown eyes look almost kind in their determination.

“No, Ann, I will not be hurting Leslie,” he says. Leslie’s chest feels light and full all at once as she slides her hand into his. He squeezes. “How could I? I saw her get stood up in that bar and it’s like something turned on inside me to make her happy. Keep making her happy. Never stop making her happy.”

His eyes stay on Ann, and Leslie desperately waits for him to look at her. No one has ever spoken about her the way that pretending Ben does. It’s refreshing and warm. That bar story isn’t even real, and Ann knows that, but it feels real, almost palpable, like the moment in time actually exists. 

She was at a bar, 45 minutes after a date was supposed to show, two drinks down, and incredibly sad. She just wanted to go out because it had been so long. She can feel the disappointment. She can see her hair a little mussed from the end of the work day, but she still looked hopeful, even when almost an hour had gone by.

Ben was there to grab drinks with work friends and he spotted her. Maybe he saw her and watched her, was it so bad to hope someone would once and awhile be watching her? After her second drink alone, he had to step in, like the need filled him up inside.

And he wasn’t even that nice, probably. He is still Ben, her Ben, the Ben she knows, the Ben in 7C with slanted, mean handwriting and sarcasm etched in pages for her to see. He probably said something like, “So you’re stood up?” or “He’s not coming,” and while the comment maybe hurt at first, it also made her laugh. He got her another drink and she warmed up, she recovered, she was happy.

Maybe they kissed before they parted. Maybe she kissed him before she got in the cab. A quick one, just a thank you, but obvious in its tone that there would be more.

“Aw,” Zach says, putting a hand to his chest. “I want to steal that for my vows tomorrow.”

“We didn’t meet in a bar, you butthead,” Alex says, laughing and pulling Zach into him, kissing him with one of those blissfully happy kisses that are more teeth than lips.

Leslie laughs and Ben pulls her close, scooping his hand to her chin to raise her cheek up for him to kiss. His lips are warm, his jaw a little rough with stubble and she contemplates just turning enough to feel that same feeling on her lips.

She doesn’t. Pretending must have its limits. 

“You’re all gross,” Ann says, making their section of the table erupt in laughter.

“Calm down, Annie, your man will be here tomorrow morning,” Alex says.

Ann smiles at that, her cheeks a little pink. Leslie almost forgot, tomorrow she gets to meet the man that Ann thinks may be the one. She has to prepare her own set of threats.

Ben keeps Leslie close throughout dinner and well into dessert, and when they leave the table, he holds her hand as they go back to the elevators. They held hands during the D.C. tour with his family. She remembers him squeezing her hand whenever his parents began to fight, or whenever she had a fun fact to share with the group. This time, his hand is steady and warm in hers, only detaching when the elevator doors close, as if there is no reason to pretend anymore.

Leslie is startled to discover that she wishes they didn’t have to stop.

//

It’s not hard to avoid the bed. Leslie says she’s staying up, and Ben actually grins and assures her that he knew she would be up later than him. He doesn’t mind her keeping the TV on, with the volume up and everything. At midnight, he passes her a note he wrote with the hotel notepad and pen.

5C —

Turn down the volume. Go to bed.

Thx. 7C

She crumbles the note and throws it at him and he laughs this very comfortable and sleepy laugh that goes straight to Leslie’s chest. She mutes the TV and snuggles into the chair.

“Hey, girlfriend, get in the bed. I will stay over here,” Ben mumbles, face half planted in his pillow. “You can leave the TV on, even.”

“I’m fine, really.”

“Leslie, come on, we’re adults, just get in the bed. Go to sleep before 3AM for once.”

“How come you’re just as much of a turd in a fancy hotel as you are in our building?” Leslie asks, standing. 

“It’s a secret.”

Leslie shakes her head and is careful to pull back the covers on her side of the bed. She gets in bed and leaves the comforter down, only pulling the sheets up to her waist.

“Are you hot?” Ben asks.

“Always, when I’m sleeping, anyway.”

“Huh.” Ben snuggles deeper into the covers, pulling them up to his chin. She chances a glance at him. The glow from the TV is flickering on his face as he peeks at her from around the blanket. “But you’re so small.”

“I am not.”

“You’re extremely tiny. LIke a little…fireball. Hey, that’s a good girlfriend nickname. I’ll try it tomorrow.”

Leslie rolls her eyes but likes how a nickname discovery makes her feel weightless.

“You’ll definitely be the smallest president.”

“But still the best.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

They smile at each other, Leslie flat on her back and her head turned toward him, Ben cuddled in the covers so much that all Leslie can see is the curve of his mouth and softness of his eyes. He looks playful, nice, like he’s everything he’s pretending to be.

There’s a soft back and forth between them. Leslie keeps thinking Ben has fallen asleep, but then he asks her about her favorite elementary school teacher or who would be her Attorney General. She matches his questions and learns that he tried to play ice hockey when he was 10, but he couldn’t get a hang of it. She learns that law school was hard, that he ran away when his parents got divorced for a whole two hours and no one noticed he was gone. She tells him about her dad and lists her top 20 favorite ice cream flavors. 

When it’s 3:00 in the morning, she teases him for keeping her up to her usual bedtime and he turns off the TV, immediately announcing that it’s bedtime. It’s tense and quiet as Leslie tries to fall asleep, but eventually she does, with her hand outstretched toward Ben.

//

The ceremony is at a local park, and it’s poised to be beautiful and simple, something Leslie’s always wanted for her own wedding. Just pulling up to the location makes her want to start openly weeping, but she holds back for the actual ceremony.

It’s supposed to rain today, and Leslie offered to order a tent just in case, but everyone refused her offer. Alex and Zach are giving themselves to the elements, Ann told her, and Leslie almost cried then. She’s been almost crying all day.

The clouds are full and dark overhead, the sweet smell of rain wafting in the air. The guests, some with umbrellas already out, arrive and stand on the grass, separated by the line of flower petals placed on the ground to make an aisle. Leslie stations them close to the aisle so she can see everything, her heels sinking into the grass so much that she finally just takes them off. Ben takes them from her hand and holds them, pulling her close, rubbing her arm for warmth.

“What if it rains?” he asks. “It looks like it’s going to.”

Leslie takes a deep breath. “Then I’m going to cry so much.”

He kisses that spot on the top of her head and the music begins, played by a man who is standing to the side with a guitar. Leslie starts crying.

Ben moves to stand behind her, putting both arms around her shoulders, her shoes dangling over her chest. Leslie holds onto his arms, crying as she watches Ann, immaculate and perfect and every positive adjective that the dictionary hasn’t even discovered yet. Alex is with her, just as teary as Leslie, and handsome. As Zach follows with each of his parents on either side of him, the clouds break open and it starts raining.

It’s raining and everyone is smiling and Leslie feels like her heart is going to burst.

Ben’s the perfect wedding boyfriend. He tightens his hold on her when the vows are exchanged, as if he relates to the elated feelings of love. He rubs her arms as the rain pours down a little harder. He asks if she needs an umbrella, he can go grab one, and Leslie just holds him closer. 

When the ceremony is over, everyone cheers and those without umbrellas bolt to their cars to meet at the reception. The rest of the guests mingle, and Ben turns Leslie around, telling her they need to go, they can buy an umbrella and dry off in their room before going down to the reception. 

“Not yet,” Leslie says, sniffling.

She’s afraid to know what she looks like right now. Ben’s hair is plastered to his forehead, rainwater dripping from the ends. She reaches up and pushes his hair back so the water stops falling on his face. The rain is more like a mist now, and Leslie can feel the chill in her bones, but she hates leaving a wedding ceremony, as if all the love and happiness floats around afterward. It still feels this way now, even as the rain should be washing it away.

“Do you always cry so easily?” Ben asks, pushing his thumbs across the apples of her cheeks, smearing her makeup, tears, and raindrops. 

Leslie nods, his hands staying along her jaw and rolling down to her neck, pushing her wet hair off her neck. Leslie tilts her head, following his touch. Ben takes a step toward her, moving her hair again, wringing it out behind her, making them both laugh.

She’s a little disappointed, standing here like a drowned rat. Ben looked at her this morning like she was not just the sun, but a sky full of stars and bright planets, galaxies dancing in the background. He touched her hair in the car, tracing a curl along her cheek. She felt buzzed and electric, but terrified. 

Like now. Leslie’s blood is sizzling and while she may be shivering, she’s full of flames as Ben’s hands keep working through her wet hair, pushing drops of water off her chin, her neck. His eyes are kind and soft, his gaze moving across her face in a lazy pattern. Her eyes, her mouth, her hair. 

“Ben—”

His thumb touches the corner of her mouth and Leslie freezes.

“We should go, you’re shivering,” Ben whispers just as the rain starts to fall in a fury again.

Leslie nods. Ben picks up her shoes from the grass and puts a hand out to help her balance as she puts them on. He leads her back to the car and they drive in silence. Leslie keeps glancing back at him, wondering what he’s thinking, why his eyes are so narrow on the road and why he keeps rubbing his thumb along the steering wheel. 

He’s quiet while they walk through the lobby, go up in the elevator. He asks if she wants to take a shower and she shakes her head but uses the hair dryer to dry her hair and try to do something with it. She cleans her face and feels ridiculous putting on another full face of makeup, so she just puts on mascara and lipstick. 

She watches Ben pace and change behind her, his body coming into view in the mirror in various states of undress. He complains that his socks and shoes are soaked and she watches him dig through his suitcase for new socks, shirtless.

Leslie doesn’t quite have another outfit for today, but she has a sweater and a skirt that she figures she can get away with. Everyone got caught in the rain, so they will either be very wet or wearing a different outfit anyway. Ben was equipped with another button-up and a whole other tie, apparently. 

His hands are shaking and he keeps pacing, checking his watch like that’ll make a difference whether they arrive on time or not to the reception. They’re already late, but everyone will be, Leslie assumes, even the grooms. The entire hotel room is thick with something tense and unknowing and Leslie keeps trying to convince herself she’s imagining it, but it’s impossible. It’s in every fiber of the bed they shared and dripping with the water in their old clothes. It’s evaporated and dancing in the air between them. 

Leslie has no idea what to do about it.

“I’m ready if you are,” she says, standing by the door, her hands clasped in front of her. 

Ben stops adjusting his tie and turns around, eyes eating her. She looks nothing like she did before, but the way he’s looking at her is much more intense than this morning. The rain is splattering against the window behind him, the overcast haze backlighting him, creating an even more tense image of Ben Wyatt. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice small and worried.

Ben’s shoulders come down a little and he takes a deep breath. “Yeah, sorry, I am—I just like to be on time.”

“Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s the rain,” Ben waves an accusing hand at the window.

Leslie smiles and Ben returns it hesitantly. 

Everything in the ballroom is glowing this sweet baby blue color mixing with silvers and blacks. Not everyone is here yet, but the grooms are, mingling and looking happy and locked together. Leslie is going to cry again.

Ben grabs Leslie’s hand, interlocking their fingers as they walk in. They say hi to Ann, and get to meet her boyfriend, Raul. Leslie introduces herself and then immediately tells him if he hurts any hair on Ann’s head or any tiny piece of her, she will hire a hitman and have him killed slowly and then have his body sent over to his mother’s house. He looks startled, but Ben is quick to take Leslie away before she gives any more details.

They eat; there are toasts. Ben keeps up the show, but it feels different. Less fluid than before, less natural. Leslie tries to help them along by cuddling into him more, stealing his food, and putting his arm around her when Ann’s creepy cousin starts talking to her. He’s accommodating, convincing, but he’s not the Ben she’s come to pretend with, and it scares her. 

Leslie cries when Zach and Alex dance their first dance. Ben is warmer then, pushing tears off her cheeks with his thumbs and handing her a napkin when she starts sniffling. He’s smiling, but not meeting her eyes. Leslie shakes it off, wiping her cheeks when the music changes and everyone is invited to dance. She grabs Ann and they spin and dance. It’s freeing and Leslie forgets about Ben’s absent eyes and shaking fingers. She forgets that she has feelings for him, that she is scared of those feelings, and dances to Michael Jackson, Lady Gaga, and Britney Spears. 

“Look at those losers,” Ann yells at Leslie, the music thumping behind her voice. She points off the dance floor.

Ben and Raul are standing by the bar, beers in their hands. Raul is talking to Ben about something, and Ben’s doing that polite nodding thing that people do when they’re not really interested in what someone is talking about. He’s watching Ann and Leslie dance, his eyes focused and intense, only breaking when he decides he needs to take a long gulp of his beer. 

“Raul says he doesn’t dance, I’m—”

“I have feelings for Ben.”

Leslie says it while looking right at him. She said it loud, she knows, but the music is blasting in her ears along with the fast beat of her heart, her cheeks and chest hot with her confession. She feels lighter, but no less terrified. Leslie isn’t sure if Ann heard her, but she’s glad she said it. She wants to say it again.

Ann grabs Leslie’s arm and turns her away from staring at Ben.

“Leslie,” Ann yells, pulling her close by her shoulders. “Of course you do.” She’s smiling at her, the excitement alive in her eyes. 

Leslie shakes her head, biting away her own smile. “It’s not real, I made it all up.”

Ann smacks Leslie’s arm. “Stop it. Also, next time, don’t drop this kind of thing in such a loud place.”

They both laugh and Ann hugs her, spinning her as she leaves the dance floor and Leslie suddenly feels that frantic lost and panicked feeling she gets when she’s at a wedding alone. It’s only going to be a moment before the creepy cousin reappears and asks her for a dance while bowing and calling her, “m’lady.”

There’s a tug on her hand and she’s pulled into Ben’s chest. He stumbles backwards, giving them space, and she takes her own step back. 

“I can’t dance,” he yells and Leslie laughs.

“You don’t have to dance with me.”

“No, no,” Ben says, stepping closer. “I want to, I’m just bad at it.”

He’s a pleasant one or two beers buzzed and he’s a little looser now. She grabs his hand to help him move to the beat of the music, but it is rather useless. His hips move the wrong way and his feet are on a rhythm of their own. His face is contorted in concentration as if he can just think his way to being able to make his body move how he wants it. She tries to help, but he steps on her feet or elbows her and it’s all so bad and baffling that she can only laugh.

The music slows and Leslie takes a breath, putting her hand on Ben’s chest so he can take a break from whatever it is his body has been doing for the last few songs. She says she’s thirsty and goes for the bar, but Ben grabs her and pulls her back into him, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

“After this song. Please. I can dance to this one.”

Ben’s kind eyes are back and Leslie melts into him, pushing her hands up his chest and resting behind his neck. His mouth tilts in a faint smile.

“See? Just swaying.”

He’s still slightly off somehow, but she decides not to burst his bubble. 

Leslie watches a group of people dramatically belt the high notes of the song, grabbing each other and swaying, drinks in hand. Ann is making out with Raul on the other side of the dance floor. Alex and Zach are dramatically singing along, huddled in each other’s arms, kissing between lyrics like they can’t wait until the song is over to do so. 

Ben leans his head down, snuggling his face into her hair, his nose touching her neck. Leslie tightens her hold on him, worried her knees will go out and make her fall to the floor. If he moved his head just so, his lips would be on her neck, and her head feels empty, like it’s somehow floating away from her body. He adjusts and she stops breathing, waiting for his lips to touch her, but instead he raises his head a little so he can speak into her ear.

“You drive me crazy.”

Leslie’s spine tingles, sending electricity along her skin. Her forehead falls into his shoulder and she shakes her head.

“I knew that,” she says. She’s worried she’s not loud enough, but he pulls back.

“No, not like that. I—”

The music changes to a louder, faster song, and Ben rolls his eyes, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the lobby. Leslie has to run to keep up with his longer strides, and she keeps saying his name, but he doesn’t stop until he presses the elevator call button.

“Wait, Ben, the cake. We didn’t stay for the cake. I need cake.”

The doors open and he pulls her inside and pushes her against the back wall. The doors close behind him and they ascend, his body pressed into hers. She can’t breathe, as if his hands moving up her shoulders and into her hair is seeping the oxygen from her lungs in a delightful asphyxiation. 

“You’ll get cake,” he whispers.

Leslie can’t think, can’t form the words, but she is thankful despite the fact that her whole body is on fire. 

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says, not like a question, but he doesn’t do anything until she nods.

His mouth is hard on hers. Her head falls back against the wall, cradled in his hands. Leslie finally finds breath again, as if his mouth had the power to help her lungs along, make them remember their job. His lips push hers apart just enough for his tongue to touch the tip of hers when the doors open. He pulls away and takes her hand, taking her with him out of the elevator and to their room.

“Ben—”

“You will get cake.”

“No, I’m just—”

He kisses her again, unlocking the door behind her as his mouth pushes hers open again, this time devouring her. Leslie grabs at his shirt, pulling him closer, making them both stumble back into the hotel room. They break apart when Ben pushes her down on the bed, Leslie squealing as she bounces on the mattress. 

“You said I drive you crazy,” Leslie says as Ben takes off her shoes. 

“You do. You stay up late and are loud and keep me up at night. You’re finally quiet and I can’t go to sleep without your noise.” Ben runs his hands up her legs and Leslie arches her back, sighing at the warmth of his touch. He stops too soon and she groans. “I have all your notes. Sometimes, I write you a note just so you’ll write me back. Is this okay?”

Ben’s voice is this new low tone that vibrates through her body. It’s shaky, a little unsure, and Leslie’s overwhelmed by the combination of it and the way his hands overtake her legs, going higher and higher with each pass. 

Leslie nods and Ben’s hands finally go up underneath her skirt and he pulls off her underwear. She gasps.

“Now I can’t get you out of my head.” He bends down at the edge of the bed, pulling her toward him and Leslie forgets how to breathe again. “In my head, we’re dating.” He’s kissing her legs, going up her thighs as he talks. “We met at that stupid bar and we’ve been dating ever since. I’ve had you ever since.”

He pushes her legs apart and groans, sneaking kisses up the inside of each thigh. Leslie whimpers, squirming underneath his touch. Her stomach flip-flops, her heart pounds, and her brain whirls. He’s been pretending, she’s been pretending, and they’ve been living in their pretend fantasy together. She swallows, concentrating hard on speaking and not on the feeling of Ben’s breath on her skin, of his mouth so close to her.

“Did we kiss at the bar?”

He groans, low in his chest, and she can feel his mouth move against her when he says, “God, yes.”

Leslie’s fingers tighten in the sheets and when her eyes close, she sees countless sparklers, the wonderful and big kind that come out for the Fourth of July. Ben’s mouth is hot and practiced, searching and hungry, and Leslie can’t keep her voice low or her moans soft, and when her hands transfer from the sheets to Ben’s hair, it’s like the volume has been turned up. 

He holds her ass in his hands and pushes her higher, closer, and his tongue is deep and steady. Leslie’s breath is caught in her throat, lava running through her veins, and she can’t remember which way is up or down. Ben’s hands move and her hips fall as he runs his fingers up her torso, feeling her chest and running over her breasts. One hand joins his mouth and his thumb presses down on her clit and she screams, pushing up on her elbows. He looks up at her, moving faster and she tries to keep their gazes locked until she can’t anymore, her muscles failing her and her back hitting the mattress as her whole body ignites and the firecrackers go off behind her eyes.

//

She’s out of breath when they run back into the reception. Flashes are going off as Alex and Zach cut into the cake and Leslie jumps, clapping her hands, the tears already starting to gather in the corner of her eyes.

Ben walks up behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, both of them walking awkwardly tangled together toward the crowd gathered around the cake. 

“See? I told you, you’d get cake.”

He kisses her head and Leslie shimmies out of his grasp and turns toward him. He shakes his head, smiling as he wipes her tears away.

“I should carry tissues around from now on,” Ben says.

“It’d be smart,” Leslie says, tapping his chest.

“I’ll get us cake,” Ben says, kissing her quickly on the lips before turning toward the table.

Leslie watches him wait for cake, making small talk with Raul as he waits. Ann looks at Ben and then looks back at Leslie, mouthing, “Where’d you go?”

Leslie shrugs, flicking her eyes to the ceiling, making Ann’s mouth fall open. Leslie laughs, hiding her face while Ann does a small victory dance, whispering something to Raul. Raul puts his hand up to high five Ben, and the pink color that creeps up Ben’s neck and ears makes him look incredibly cute.

Ben finally gets two plates of cake and walks back over to Leslie, his mouth crooked in a satisfied smirk as he approaches her. He kisses her again when he gets to her, handing her a plate. 

She stops herself from imagining that this is real, she makes her thoughts unspiral from pretending that this is true, that he may take her home for once and that they may actually kiss.

She stops pretending because there’s no reason to anymore. She gets to have her cake, and Ben, too.


End file.
